


Fire Stains

by PlotBunnyDumpsterFire (AllHailProHeroThirteen04102016)



Series: Tracking Mud Through Realms [1]
Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: (by accident), Assassination Attempt(s), Gen, Ghost Cores (Danny Phantom), Illnesses, Isekai, Medical Examination, Medical Inaccuracies, Mild Plot, Misunderstandings, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Reincarnation, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, Time Skips, Time Travel, Wish Fulfillment, no meta knowledge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29573589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllHailProHeroThirteen04102016/pseuds/PlotBunnyDumpsterFire
Summary: Phoebe was very special. She knew that from the moment she had awareness, when people around her note that she was "advanced." Knew that when she understood too many languages since she was born, with varying fluency.Phoebe was special. She had to be.Because why else would the world try so hard to kill her?
Relationships: Valerie Gray & Original Character(s)
Series: Tracking Mud Through Realms [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2172672
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10
Collections: A Collection of Beloved Inserts





	1. The Start of the Princess Phase

**Author's Note:**

> This is written so I can practice action scenes??? I can do plot, but I currently suck at writing actions scenes so I'm hoping that in the future, if I reread this I'll some improvement.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misunderstandings happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not have written this for giggles. And in one sitting.

She's sure it was the same day as always, but the nurses extracting the various tubes attached to her body was proving it wrong.

Blue flickered at the edge of her senses, but none of them can do anything. None can stop her, not when there are too many people, too many items keeping them out.

Odd how no one told her she was stable enough to _leave_ the hospital.

She's been in here for five years. Knew that because of the birthdays. Sure, she walked around the hospital a few times, but that's mostly for the physical therapy. She probably would've been allowed to run around further outside if she didn't always lose strength by then. She's not always awake or lucid either.

"Phoebe? Are you excited?"

"Yep," she said, popping the p. She gives her a thoughtful look. "I can finally grow out my hair."

The nurse hums, knowingly. "You love long hair." She murmured, patting her head.

"I do. So...I'm gonna donate hair to the others."

A little bit of light bleeds into her eyes as realization dawned on her. Phoebe can't help laugh.

They keep her hair short. The nurses are a little dead inside, but they're nice. Some of them use her to practice teaching medical things through the years.

They bid her goodbye. Tries to cajole her into visiting, but they all knew that she'd be too exhausted by the trip. The other hospital children hugs her and cries, claiming that they'll miss her and her stories.

The van rumbled.

"Are you ready, sweetie?"

She beamed. "Yes, Ma!"

As the two cheerfully told her all about what they can do at home, how excited her older siblings are for her to finally leave the hospital, Phoebe turns away to look at the hospital.

Amongst the crowd, a blue face scowled at her.

She smiles at Them.

Waves.

Stuck out her tongue for good measure.

When the hospital disappeared, she turns her head back to her chatty parents and crossed her arms, rubbing at her bandages thoughtfully.

It's going to be weird to move without minding anything extra attached.

Her siblings are cute kids, cheerful kids. A sharp contrast to her more quiet demeanor. Nobody's sure if that was because of the drugs or that's just how she is. She gets to see them three days a week when she was still in the hospital.

Now she gets to live with them 24/7.

They at first communicated through letters. But Ma and Pa are gradually getting busier, getting closer to their goal. Continuously getting breakthroughs can do that to a pair of ambitious people. So they resorted to these old phones with advanced payments.

Phoebe wouldn't have to learn about their lives solely through texts anymore.

Danny is twelve. Jazz is fourteen. The other friends they brought with them a few times are probably much, much different from the last time she saw them.

(They're probably too old to play house with her.)

Her room is bare of any personality. All neutral shades, with a big, clunky computer that was obviously tricked out.

One week later, they celebrate her birthday.

_Happy Sixth Birthday, Phoebe Fenton._

Phoebe was very smart. She reads a lot and understands a lot. Sometimes she processed information a lot faster. Sometimes she already knew it. Everyone excuses it with the knowledge of frazzled nurses in training using her as a guinea pig to teach other interns.

But she was also born too early. Born contaminated with whatever was in her parents' labs that sometimes went in their food. Usually it wasn't harmful to people in small amounts. But over time? And while they were unaware she was even pregnant?

Out came Phoebe, born weak, delicate, and sickly and some parts under her skin looking green and black. The ectoplasm causing chronic pain since birth. She had her father's black hair and mother's purple eyes. "Inherited" the typical Fenton genius gene. "Inherited" their belief of supernatural creatures as well.

(Phoebe was born with stories _begging_ to be told.)

The girl grew up in a hospital. Used to needles and long sleep. Used to boredom, except when she'd hold her clunky phone to send her siblings messages and bouncing off story ideas between them. She's very perceptive and good at knowing how a person usually feels. If there's a rude doctor or nurse attending to her, she usually sees if they're alright and tries to alleviate whatever is bothering them.

Phoebe doesn't go outside, unless by necessity. It started when she was three years old. Always lying about blue, green, red creatures trying to hurt her. Always lying about nurses getting possessed the same creatures. But it's obviously causing her some distress, causing her to be unable to sleep at night. Her parents humored her by creating a ghost barrier in her hospital room. Everyone else thought it was a sham, but it gave their kid some peace of mind.

Sometimes she moves weirdly. Twisting her body like there's something to dodge, her head turning towards a direction to make faces at like someone was there. But some other kids do that, probably because of their own imaginary friends.

She's a Fenton, which meant weirdness is natural, but a _good kid_.

So many hope that she wouldn't be snatched away as quickly she'd arrived.

Jazz and Danny don't have a lot of friends. But even Phoebe can see that these bonds are ones that would last long.

She wishes she can do that. But some part of herself is still too detached.

(Dying probably does that.

Not that she was aware of it yet.

Phoebe's current life is so _mundane_ compared to her previous. And she has a loving, _whole_ family now. Except her parents in this life are too eccentric to be compared to her previous lives' enthusiastic and unenthusiastic conformists.)

Her siblings are sick of their parents' obsession with ghosts. They look at her like they're psyching themselves up for...well...they'll have to break the news to her and deal with the fallout themselves about the whole ghost deal.

When they finally do it, Phoebe gives them a Look™.

"I know."

They're surprised and relieved.

"Ghosts don't exist. _Aliens_ do."

"What."

The groans of exasperation and annoyance are ignored. So are their efforts in trying to convince her that aliens don't exist(Jazz) even if they're cool (Danny).

Too bad for them. She already thought this out. A life spent in a hospital gives one a lot of time to think and ponder. A lot of time to observes the being trying to kill her since the moment she knew how to walk. The alien coloring and eldritch abomination appearance were dead giveaways to what they were. Ma and Pa didn't know that they weren't messing with dead people but actual alien technology. It would explain the discrepancy on the current era's technology and the ones that they are tinkering with. It all adds up.

But where does _Phoebe_ come into this?

Apparently she was born (like the first recorded quirk-y person) _glowing_ , and with the same weird green in her body. Hence her name. She was probably some kind of evidence or accidental lab rat proving the existence of aliens, and aliens _like_ their anonymity too much to simply let go of it just because there's one of them artificially created (by accident) and living with a human family that have _scientists_ in it.

In short, aliens are trying to kill her to keep their secrets.

(She's so glad her parents were so quirky and loving and weird and didn't even consider shipping her off to a government facility.)

And every single attempt at killing her failed. Whether it was because she was wearing some kind of gadget that protects her from the "spooks" and in extension their weird beams of energy that is supposed to fry her or something, or maybe it was because of her abnormally sharp senses (probably alien sense!) that help her know if there's someone invisible, or her danger sense (another alien instinct thing?) that borders on premonition when she's in legitimate danger (because creatures that pass through walls are a Thing), or her awesome skill at handling the little Phoebe-sized Fentons Gadgets to make the aliens back off even when they're mind-controlling the staff...

Phoebe doesn't care if their secrets are blown.

Let her live her life, god _damn_.

She's not allowed anywhere near the lab. It might affect her health. Severely. Horribly.

There are a lot of filters around the house. Especially the heater and the aircon in her own bedroom.

Her own food is the only thing that remains completely uncontaminated. Because everyone is extremely careful now that she's here.

But after the second time she accidentally ate ectoplasm-infected food (accidentally switched with Danny), and one time she started vomiting after eating a delicious salad that had something called "Blood Blossoms," she decided to (secretly) cook her own.

So. School.

First day of school, and Danny had to snatch her from the doorway so that she wouldn't go to school in a hazmat suit. Pity. That would've made it memorable.

First day was...alright. Mostly for socializing. Getting to know the teacher. Extremely boring. Phoebe had to pretend to be another bright-eyed student to avoid getting singled out as a "quiet kid who needs assistance!"

Then shit hit the fan.

She has been outside for three hours and she was immediately swarmed. Every single person around her is brainwashed. Obvious sign was the glowing eyes.

There was a strong sense of hopelessness that was both horrifying and familiar.

She ducks under arms, strikes at certain points in their bodies, breaks noses, she manages to grab a thrown kitchen knife and dragged it past the Achilles tendons. Her little Fenton devices sting the ghosts blocking her long enough for her to get away. It wasn't enough.

There are too many. She is grabbed through the wall, (fucking molecular scrambling _bullshit_!) pinned down with a glowing hand approaching her face.

( _DANGER DANGER DANGER)_

She was supposed to die.

A portal opens and a huge, buff guy with bluish skin _yells_.

Cue shockwaves. And her headache. Every single ghost got pushed out of the people and escaped into their own portals.

The big, blue guy floats down towards her. "Princess?"

He pokes her cheek.

She gurgled something out. Head empty, no thoughts. Everything is too bright and loud. The guy has cloud hair and a big, flowy cape. It looks cool.

He sighed, fangs glinting in the sunlight. "I forgot you're not immune yet."

Sound of a zipper. He puts something in her backpack. It felt distinctly box-like. He roughly pats her head.

"See you much, much later, princess."

There was an investigation. Every single camera was disabled. Nobody remembered what happened.

No one but Phoebe Fenton, but who would believe her?

_...hallucinations..._

_...must have be...Stress?_

_..ead got hit too hard..._

_...lway...ike thi..._

But it's still a conspiracy. Nobody remembered, but the one person who claimed that she did remembered something that sounds too much like the ravings of a madman than anything that made sense. She ends up in the hospitak for a month because whatever had happened affected her brain.

Amity Park gained groups that started to believe in aliens.

Meanwhile, there was a little girl somewhere having another existential crisis.

"I'm a princess," she claims breathily.

Danny snorted. Then messed up her hair. "Hey!" She tried to smack his hands off. "Unhand me, barbarian!"

" _Sure_ , Princess." He grabs her and gives her a noogie instead.

Jazz watches this with trepidation. _Oh dear,_ she thought. _Is this the rumored Princess Phase?_

Sure enough, Phoebe was completely convinced that she's some sort of secret princess. Ma and Pa would go with it and joke about being royalty by proxy. It would be until two years later that she'd remember enough to feel embarrassed, but by then the teasing nickname of Princess has stuck.

The box had a bunch numbers that are significant to her. She doesn't know how, or why, but gut instinct tells her that this was important, and not in a _bad_ way.

This was important, in an _ally_ way.

(It's her death days, she'd realize years later. Only _she_ knew that.)

Plus, there was a date. December 2014. Twelve years in the future.

Flipped over the note.

_For your ET troubles._

Phoebe huffs out a laugh.

Time Travel, or Alternate Future then. She's not surprised.

"This is some Omnitrix bullshit," she noted. she briefly wonders what the Omnitrix even was before shrugging it off as something involving her Alien Heritage. "Okay. Safety measures!"

She grabbed the black gloves from the hazmat suit and opens the box. A split second.

A thing attacks her face.

"Fuck!"

It's metal, it didn't set off any of her danger senses, she doesn't _know_ if this thing is going to hurt her, maybe it's because it's a machine and not something thrown with murderous intent fuck did _they figure out a way around her instinct--!?_

And she's wearing a metal suit.

"...Um?" She uttered. Looked down. Fully metal. Fullmetal. Iron Man. Tanya Degurechaff uniform. Metal Child Soldier Magical Girl Combo. 

_What the hell is this._

"I'm back!"

"How's the rescue?"

"Boring. Your past self got a migraine from my Ghostly Wail."

"Oh? You mean _that's_ where all those ghosts went?"

"Clockwork _hates_ you, princess." He reminded her.

"Not my fault they're all so dumb I outsmarted them in six -- well, I think it's about to be seven? -- timelines."

He chuckled.

The present was so bad that they're actually trying to kill _her_ first than him. He doesn't how why they're trying to kill her that far back, but he's not gonna ask.

After all, she was the reason why he exists.

* * *

_You have two options: ignore this thing and throw it away or take this._

_But those things at that are trying to kill you? They won't go away. They'll appear more often, be more ruthless in their pursuit now that you're not confined in a hospital._

_But if you take this, you'll make this suit a part of your body permanently. You'll get nanobots that are in tune to your senses and instincts, and you wouldn't have to worry too much about getting hit or aiming for invisible opponents. You can hit as hard back. If you get hit by their attacks, you'd be resistant to the rays while wearing the armor. If you get shanked, the nanobots will keep your body together long enough to get proper medication, or while forcing your body to heal. Downsides are that you'll need to eat much more than you're already are._

_What do you choose?_

_"_ It's not like I have a choice in this matter," she grumbled.

Either a shockingly short life ending straight out of the hospital, or she uses this...gift...the suspiciously convenient gift...to live long enough for her to find out why she's being targeted in the first place. Or meet whoever made the alien suit.

She sighed.

Time paradoxes, _man_.

"Time to go with a self-fulfilling prophecy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phoebe doesn't remember her past lives yet, but it's obviously affecting her since birth.
> 
> Also, this was inspired by those ideas where Valerie ended up with a suit that changed her biology.


	2. Throwing Stones in a

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot is obvious in this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic will probably last for, like, three chapters. Or four. I'm just trying to flush it out of my system.
> 
> Wrote this all in one sitting. Did not edit or think too hard about the dialogue. I apologize for every OOC-ness.

_"Dani, Jazz, meet your baby sister."_

_"When we'd go inside her room, always wear the hazmat suits! We've been exposed to ectoplasm for so long that our bodies are constantly expelling it through our skins and breaths, so none of us are allowed to have skin-on-skin contact."_

_No one mentions the bandages on the newborn._

_A picture of a family wearing hazmat suits. In the arms of the father was a curious looking baby in a star spangled onesie. It appears to be stubbornly holding on to her older sister's gloved finger._

_"Ectoplasm is non-Newtonian material. It doesn't listen to our laws of reality, and easily gets absorbed into objects, so we'll have to be careful with anything we'd give her."_

_[All items, before going inside the quarantine area, are required to pass through the Fenton Ectoplasm Filter Extraction.]_

_"She gets bored, but easily entertained by drawing. How's my little artist?"_

_A small toddler gives the one holding the camera a thoughtful look before presenting her unfinished drawing. "Need more crayons. And good paper. "_

_"Paper?"_

_"This one ripped."_

_"It can't handle watercolor, hm?"_

_"I'm trying to draw a galaxy," the girl whined._

_Kid logic meant that they would value a notebook or journal that looked either fancy or old._

_Danny did a good job at guessing what Phoebe would want._

_"I'm gonna make this a diary." She declared, hugging the huge, leather journal that practically covered her torso. But she's gonna write it in third person. Her life is already one heck of a story at four years old, so why not tell it? "Ma, Pa, can you buy an ink pen for me!"_

_"You already have plenty other pens."_

_"For the aesthetic!"_

_"Why don't we just put Phoebe through the FEFE?" Jazz pouted, glaring at a group of children playing together. Her family can't touch her without danger of messing her up, but other people can?_

_It's unfair._

_Jack looked puzzled. "Fe fe?"_

_"Fenton Ectoplasm Filter Extraction."_

_The Fentons are still fixing the house to make it habitable for the youngest. They might have had over a decade studying ectoplasm, but clearly it wasn't enough when it'd just seep out of the lab somehow._

_"It's too dangerous. Suddenly having what is a part of her tissues would hurt her."_

_"Like cancer?"_

_"...much more complicated than that."_

_It does. Jazz is really ~~terrified~~ annoyed by the conundrum._

_Let it stay in her, and it hurts her. Remove it and it hurts her._

_And it goes unspoken that both can lead to something fatal. Deadly._

_There's enough ectoplasm in Phoebe that it had already_ proven _itself deadly. Because of this, her immune system had identified ectoplasm as something bad and reacted violently, like an allergic reaction. If the allergic reaction includes the mere radiation of the ectoplasm giving the baby of the family horrible rashes, and direct contact severe burns. Hypothetically, if she ingests ectoplasm, it would have the same effect as drinking bleach. Ectoplasm had changed her biology, and not for the better._

_It's unfair, when her other family members are immune to it due to being exposed to non-lethal amounts of it over time. It's worse than ecto-acne. It's its own category of birth defect._

_Neither of them notice that she's conversing with a kid who spoke in German. Or the flash of blue that nearly smeared her brains all over the floor._

* * *

~~Memoir of a (possible) Alien Princess!~~

~~The Deadly Chronicles of Princess Phoebe the Merciful~~

~~Journal of a Child Soldier~~

~~Reports of a PTSD-ridden Mess (what's PTSD?)~~

~~In Regards to Assassination Attempts, Volume 3~~

~~Journal of a Princess~~

~~The Effects of Being Constantly Getting Shat on by Aliens~~

~~Alien's Favorite Punching Bag ft. Me~~

~~The Gradual Degeneration of Phoebe Fenton's Mental Stability/Health~~

~~Empress Phoebe's Studies on How to Get Away From Murderers~~

**PHOEBE'S DIARY**

_Dear Diary,_

Today was relatively uneventful.

Monday is fun in a sense that there's a bunch of homework stacked on homework. As well as group projects. You know how that usually goes.

None of the kids like Harry Potter! And earlier, I left my drawing on the table to go to the bathroom. Not only did an alien try to attack me while I was in the middle of peeing, but by the time I got back to the classroom my classmates had _doodled all over my stuff._

_Assholes!_

(If you're reading this and angry that I used this kind of language, don't be. You don't have the right. This is my fucking diary, you're the fucking shitstick who decided to snoop around and messing with my stuff. You're an asshole too.)

Anyways! I noticed that the suit had energy stuff. What kind of energy? Not sure! But for some reason it's constantly refilling by itself. Very sus.

But that also means that it's not unlimited. So I'll have to find a new weapon beyond the ones that use ammo. I have very good aim, but wasting energy and ammo is bad for my health. All that fighting left me feeling super duper drained.

I hope I have a nice kingdom in outer space! They probably have the kind of tech that lets me, you know, _time travel_. I'm must be a very good enemy to the bad guys if they're actually trying to kill me while I'm still a baby. It means they can't handle my future self! At _eighteen_! HA. They're so pathetic. But I commend them for their efforts and stubbornness.

It might be frustrating or annoying now, but this will probably sweeten my future victory.

After all, time travel is used as a last resort when _all else fails._

*cue evil laugh*

Really, they're assholes.

I keep trying to talk to them about why they're trying to hurt me. Can't we make a deal? Talk this out?

Resolve whatever this was? For all we knew, it's a huge misunderstanding.

They don't care.

They said sht about me having a silver tongue. On one hand, I'm flattered. On the other, that's making my life harder.

Aliens have the usual powers of floating, camouflage and passing through walls (probably) by scrambling their molecules. Some shoot beams, some use weapons. Some are humanoid. Some are robots. Probably transferred their consciousness into the robot.

The ones attacking her aren't the type to talk.

Some part of her wishes that they talk like those villains on those Saturday cartoons. It would help her feel a little better about being beaten up.

Her health fluctuates. A lot.

It's the same in the hospital, and it's the same outside of it.

Her going to school and being bored for maybe _four hours_ was draining to her little body, they say. She's a little weak, but it's an improvement, they try to reassure her. They're not saying that she's. lacking or anything!

Truthfully, Phoebe was impressed with how effective the hospital was in treating (or mitigating) what was supposed to be an unknown. In 21st century. Her stamina was much better than anyone had anticipated, because she had lasted this long _(running away from)_ dealing with the damn aliens.

She almost forgot how boring being sick was.

Not allowed to do anything tiring. Or tire herself out. That's probably _anything_ that involves her moving as she is. Her room was of little interest.

At best, her room in Fenton Works was starting to get some of her personality. Her little table has her art in precarious stacks, there are the new glow-in-the-dark stickers stuck to the wall in a certain pattern, a bunch of storybooks she borrowed from Jazz, and she has a box half her three-quarters her height where she can shove all the little things she'd collect whenever she's outside.

Her school notebooks were under her bed so that she'd draw in the backs of it whenever she'd feel like it. Don't question why.

There _are_ perks to being sick. One is that she doesn't have to go outside her room, the only thing in the entire town that was alien proof, other than her old hospital room. Another is that she wouldn't feel obligated to interact with other kids her age for the sake of assuaging her mother's worries about not having any friends.

So no mortifying or life-threatening problems here!

But the downsides are the boredom, and the chronic pain making a comeback now that her immune system is, well, _busy_.

Playing with her older brother's gameboy was a big no no because of the fact that she still tires herself out by _thinking_. Ugh. That meant that writing fanfics of Harry Potter on her PC was out of the question as well.

Her fever lasted for two days, another day where she needed to get checked, another day for her to rest because her butt is still too weak but Pa gave her the numbers of her various classmates so that she can talk to them (when the heck did she get friends?), another check-up, and one more day of rest because it's Sunday.

This was _pathetic_.

T-minus six hours until Monday 12AM, she thinks, bored.

(Talking to children through the phone is still mentally tiring. They don't know anything beyond the basics, so she can't talk to them about anything complicated unless she dumbs it down for them. _Jazz_ hadn't bothered when she was her age.)

But whatever Danny was doing is probably interesting enough to warrant repeatedly banging his head against the table. Time for an intervention.

"Whatcha doing?"

"Homework."

There's about seven worksheets left he has to do. They all look sad -- slightly wrinkled from hastily rubbing the eraser against it, and pencil marks that stubbornly clung to it. Sadder when you realize that he's doing a bunch of homework on a Sunday, and when Jazz is too busy to help him out. ( _Why is there so much assignments?_!) She scoots over to look closer.

It's fairly simple chemistry and algebra. For a second, Phoebe's head felt crowded with voices and thoughts ( _thisqualityofeducationissasdisn'tthistaughtinlateelementary?DifferentTimePeriods?_ ) so she puts it down. There's also balancing equations, which was pretty simple but has been giving Danny a rough time with the usage of prime numbers.

"I wanna help."

"No."

"Okay."

Sadly for Danny, she's not taking no for an answer. He's so absorbed in answering the current page he was working on, he didn't even notice Phoebe stealing away three papers of worksheets. In the kitchen, she quickly answers them, double checks it, then goes back to the dining room.

She slams the finished papers right in front of him.

"My payment is in snacks and favors." She ignores how he snatched it away, panicked that she probably drew all over it again. (It was _one time!_ ) "Don't tell Mom or Dad."

He told Jazz.

"Oh come on."

"No."

"You're pretty much a genius, Phoebe. Why not skip grades?" Jazz insisted.

_Next time Ma is doing laundry, Phoebe is going to add red food coloring to it and make him suffer wearing pink to school._

"...you do realize that kids spend less time at school than you guys do." _And therefore, she'll spend more time at home where the aliens can't attack her. Less time outside, the safer._ "'sides, I'm too lazy."

_Dear Diary,_

There's a new alien trying to kill me.

Except they're not straight up trying to destroy me via energy beams of Doom. They're trying to catch me first. I wonder why.

News: They treat me offering a deal to resolve the situation peacefully the same as how a Christian sees the Devil telling them about a nice deal.

Phoebe is cleaning up the medicine cabinet.

There's a bunch of hormone-related medicine.

She briefly wonders what it's for until the nanobots buzzed warningly, reminding her of the huge burn that took out chunks of her shoulder. It still burns, even with the milk, with the nanobots had gathered up her blood and tissues and are currently in the process of trying to puzzle it back together.

It wouldn't be the first time she uses painkillers and sleeping pills to sleep off the injury.

Halloween is fun.

Phoebe actually gets to wear a princess outfit without being mocked for it (except for her fam.) Danny is the astronaut. Jazz is Marie Curie.

Clearly, Phoebe is the outlier. But if you'll ask her, Danny was the most normal one out of the Fenton family. _He_ wasn't part-alien and endangering someone's secrets.

She keeps her head held high, posture perfect, and tries to act as pompous and formal as possible. She convinces Jazz to be her advisor for her wisdom, and Danny as her ambassador.

"But where's the knight?"

"You can be the knight too, Danny."

Danny gets on one knee. "For your loyalty and honor, you are rightfully deserving of the noble title of...whatever goes for a knight. I have no idea. Does this count as nepotism, dearest advisor?" Jazz shakes her head, covering her mouth in her mirth. The girl shrugged. "Alright. In the power invested in me by _me_ , I now dub thee..." Phoebe uses her "scepter" (her bo staff that she's been using to wack at aliens) and pats it on Danny's shoulders. "Sir Danny the Astrobutt. You may rise."

" _Astrobutt?_ "

"What, you wanted _Ass_ -tronaut?" That incited an aborted laugh and a look of horror. Take a guess on which is which.

"I'm telling on you."

"You think they'll believe you?" Phoebe bats her eyes at them, assuming her innocent kid persona, shedding it just as quickly by smirking. "Have fun. They don't believe me about aliens."

"You think you're a princess." She points out.

"Because I'm a _queen_ , Jazz, get on with the times. We have more important matters to talk about!"

"Like aliens?" They're making that dead-eyed fish stare they usually make when Ma and Pa start ranting about ghosts. Which is a rude assumption. Phoebe is clearly in the right here!

"No, it's my first royal decree! Wanna know what it is?"

"Do we have a choice?"

"No, because I'm the Queen and you do what I say."

"Tyrant."

"I try. First order of business." She smooths out her dress and adopts a stern expression. Danny looked weirded out and Jazz was making that "worried for you mental health" face, which was fair. Phoebe probably needed therapy. Alas, she can only do the next best thing.

"According to the intelligence reports, there has been a House that is keen on continuing its transgressions towards the Fenton family. I, as Queen, therefore decree that the Baxter family shall either apologize, or forfeit their dignity, and the integrity of their skeletal system. Should they continue their _unjust_ hostility towards Sir Danny and unwanted advances towards Dame Jazz, it is a foregone conclusion that a _peaceful pursuit of justice will be no longer an option._ Their sentences will decrease by the amount of candy they shall provide. Gentlemen, I am declaring war."

Misplaced aggression.

Jazz is probably regretting allowing Phoebe to read her English textbooks.

"You shouldn't get revenge, Phoebe."

Danny, on the other hand, once he was done translating her words, was ecstatic. He got on his knee and held her hand. Nice.

"What are your next orders, my Queen."

Double nice.

"We're going to Trick the Baxters?! Why didn't you say so?!"

"Because Ma and Pa were there earlier. They wouldn't approve."

Jazz snapped out of her stupor. "And you think _I_ would?"

Phoebe pondered over the pros and cons of wasting time to sweet talk her older sister.

She decides to be blunt about it:

"...Jazz, their kid Dash stole one of your panties the other day."

(They're starting to wonder how Phoebe even knew all these, despite the kindergarten being far away from the Amity Middle School or Casper High.)

...

The Baxters are jerks.

Like, you can see how they care about each other. Family is chill and caring...but are absolute jerks to the rest of the world.

(Like Malfoys. They're even _blond_ and old money!)

When they slam the door on Phoebe's face, she giggles.

(She'll show them _Slytherin._ )

She may or may not have created egg grenades by wasting the grenades her suit provided her. The egg grenades are made by replacing the acrid ectoplasm with eggs. The ectoplasm is put in a Fenton-approved empty gallon of milk. Phoebe was in charge of the eggs, Danny was in charge of the toilet paper, and Jazz...she does whatever.

For all of Jazz's protests of "peace is always an option!!!" _she_ was the one who did the most damage. A lot of their windows were broken. She claims that it was an accident, but she's smiling like an addict. Danny had to pry her fingers off a rock she was prepared to lob into the bedroom.

They were fucking vandals.

She doesn't feel too bad about it, despite her older siblings' panic.

Ectoplasm is a kind of substance that disappears within 22 hours max. The police wouldn't be able to find who or what had destroyed the houses' security cameras.

Phoebe _does_ get lectured severely. By both of them. The few times these two agreed on something, and it's about lecturing her about morals, ethics, and the importance of the law. It is not deterred by her snide comment of everyone in the family being technically noncriminals.

(Ma and Pa got it into their head in trying to be a good example and guiding force for their sheltered baby sis, huh?)

She's a criminal by law. Non-criminal, if she's going by the criminology books.

She doesn't feel bad about it.

It's still a great day.

They continue going house-to-house, playing trick or treat. The two siblings have long learned their lesson, and showed it by confiscating any possible weapon Phoebe may have on her (Jazz flipped up her poofy skirt and found a bunch of spray paints to graffiti houses) then armed her with a cheese spray so try sating her chaos.

(Oddly enough, that was a day that doesn't have any assassination attempts. At all.)

Electric shocks made her muscle spasm, her heart jump--

\--she awakens, gasping--

\--her head aches. There's a grease stain underneath her, and it's easily explained by the system warning her about her bloodloss.

It hums under her skin, keeping her alive, keeping her safe but--

\--she doesn't feel safe without the suit anymore.

...

Ma and Pa doesn't mind it when Phoebe starts wearing his old college jackets. They coo over how cute and small she was wearing it.

Danny not-so-subtly alludes to her being smart enough to wear it.

Phoebe lobs an apple at his head. He dodges.

Damn them and their reflexes born from chores like cleaning up a lab full of dangerous weapons.

...

Aliens aren't going to stop trying to kill her.

It's a constant in her life since she was born.

But she's feeling tired of it.

How can she make it stop?

_Dear Diary,_

So the new alien wanted to ask me some questions before eviscerating me. It wanted to ask me stuff about human culture.

We played 20 Questions.

We fight. I ran out of energy.

After that, we played Chainsaw Doctor.

I'm not the doctor.

The nightmares are a new constant.

So is That Alien.

She keeps seeing That Alien everywhere.

The alien was humanoid, imitating a scientist, while wearing a hunter's instruments.

At the corner of her eye as a flash of green, blue and red.

The alien kept saying stuff about studying the difference between her and "hafas." By opening them up and comparing. They want to replicate her unique, one-of-a-kind birth defect. If only it could save her the trouble by watching the documentary about her case.

She wonders how That Alien would feel if _he_ was the one chopped up. Cut open. Prodded at.

To know what exactly happened to his body because the nanobots recorded every single bit.

The nanobots themselves were an entirely different, new can of worms.

It had puppeted her body, used weapons to preoccupy the enemy long enough for her body to be stitched closed, tissues stitched together with excess protein and fat, then _manipulating her muscles to run away to a safe location and finish healing her._

What the actual _fuck._

She's seriously out of her depth here.

_Dear Diary,_

I told Ma and Pa about the aliens trying to kill me.

They still don't believe me. "Aliens don't exist, sweetheart!"

Once they thought I was out of earshot, Ma talked about how it's probably obsessive ghosts, but it doesn't add up when I kept mentioning that the ghosts change every so often. Pa says that it's probably my imagination.

Imagination.

I'm not sure about it anymore.

I have no scars to show for it.

The nanobots are too efficient. They're [the ink is blotted out. The paper is lightly wrinkled, most likely from tears.]

Are the nanobots even a real thing? Is the humming under my skin, the information constantly pouring in my mind, in sync with my intuition, my instinct, all in my mind? Had the near-constant isolation and the ectoplasm residue in my body mess me up that much? I [more warped ink marks] _ied._

If they can't help me, I'll have to help myself.

EDIT: Don't mind the mental breakdown. I'll be fine.

The other kids are chill with her coming over for a sleepover.

Phoebe is starting to get the hang of acting like a kid. Plus, it's fun having an excuse of rubbing dirt all over an annoyance's face.

Ma and Pa are happy and worried at the same time, talking to her classmates' parents for an extended amount of time and telling them all about what to do in case of a health-related emergency. The parents endure it; their kid has a hard time making friends because none of them can understand mess of English and Welsh that's coming out of their kid's mouth except for Phoebe.

Phoebe gets to be the translator. She gets paid by being able to mess around in the attic's bathroom and them being her alibi. If she lies to her parents because of some alien-related stuff, they'll help cover her up while she's licking her wounds.

It's a nice place to put her stock of weapons.

_Dear Diary,_

Today, I stole Mom's bazooka.

I used it on That Alien.

It disappeared.

But there was a round thing.

All the green alien goop were moving towards the orb.

It's probably weird, alien biology.

I'm both relieved and disappointed that I didn't manage to kill the alien.

I think I should get a separate notebook made specifically for the aliens. The previous encounter had way too much information to fit my diary.

I don't want to see any _detailed_ mention in my diary. That sounds bad for my health.

They still talk about ghosts during dinner.

Their hypothesis about ghosts, and their general appearance are too close to how the aliens look like.

How they still arrive at the conclusion of beings born from emotions attaching to ectoplasm, I have no clue.

But it's useful.

They're making a portal to that dimension. That's why I'm not allowed in the basement lab; not only is it at a point where the "space between dimensions" are more susceptible to tearing, but it also constantly produces ectoplasm radiation.

If they're successful, then maybe one day, I'll be able to go in.

Explore.

Meet actual, reasonable and benevolent aliens.

Because surely, not all aliens are bad?

"Pa, what do you know about _ghosts_?"

_Dear Diary,_

I learned how to permanently destroy aliens.

Too bad for them.

If only they didn't make me learn that my suit can temporarily stop my heart from beating...and that it can revive me when the coast is clear.

If only I didn't know.

I'm starting to collect their weird, glowy cores. I put them in liquids that have diluted "anti-ghost" stuff Ma and Pa made. The green goop stopped trying to regenerate that way.

They make nice lamps. I tell them that they're gifts from a friend.

The next time another one of those aliens come to hurt me...

Well, at least they don't have to wonder where their God is anymore. Because she's right here.

And she's fresh out of mercy.

EDIT: I'm not fine.

_Click._

_Deathly silence broken by a shivery inhale._

"So I said that I'll have to do my best to stay alive and make sure my plan works." _A bitter laugh._ "Easier said than done. Fortunately, this wouldn't be my first rodeo.

The trick to surviving the Time Ghost is by making sure that you're important to the creation of the Chosen One. As long as I make sure that killing me at any particular time at several points, he'll be a lot more hesitant about destroying me. In other timelines where the assassinations were successful, I make sure that there's enough evidence scattered about that would point to the murderers being supernatural beings. The kind that the Fenton scientists study.

Ma has a scanner that detects ectoplasmic residue, or radiation. It is helpful when ectoplasm disappears and seeps back into the Ghost Zone when given enough time without proper conditions to contain it. In those timelines, they become more hostile and vengeful towards ghosts. That gives Phantom, the only ghost who can actually get stronger (unlike other ghosts whose strengths are stagnant) and therefore the only one other than Plasmius who can eventually gather enough strength to go toe-to-toe with Pariah Dark.

When dealing with Dan, you'll have to prove your usefulness. Make sure you stay useful, make sure that the pros of keeping you alive and cooperating with him outweighs the risk and annoyance of still dealing with a sibling. The acceleration of destroying the world is good enough.

Currently in this timeline, Amity Park is yet to fall.

That is my time limit."

_A pause. The sound of someone typing on the keyboard._

"I am currently holding Vlad hostage. He's an excellent scientist, which is evident in the armor he'd made for my younger self. He has a vague idea on what my real plans are.

Dan is still unaware of my plans. Even if he knew of Clockwork's intentions, he's too hellbent on destroying the world to realize the full extent.

Clockwork may be a clairvoyant, but he's not omniscience. He might seem all-knowing, but that's just a facade backed up with centuries of experience in learning how to connect the dots and hands-on learning on what he should and should not interfere with. I can't fault him for the way he thinks.

It just doesn't matter.

I'm aiming for a happy ending. Even if I have to destroy the world to get it...

...well, this is inevitable. That's what happens when a Ghost of Time deems it unimportant to reverse time enough for Danny to save our family. Danny is pissed off, still grieving, and he has his own efforts thrown at his face. Clockwork had implied that he'll get over it eventually. After all, he still had family.

Reincarnated people are wild factors who have this special attribute of being resistant to all kinds of mind fuckery and clairvoyance, purely because we're not bound by time, space, or destiny.

You get sick of Danny crying and being sullen all the time.

He wants his family back? I'll help him out.

Take a guess on what I did."

_She explains every bit of her plan._

"So Red Huntress, I'm giving you an option: either go with my plan and help reverse everything...or let the world march on to its fated destruction. It's your choi--"

_The recorder crunched under a red grip._

_"This stays in the room."_

_The youngest Fenton had talked as if she already decided Amity would fall. That it was inevitable. For someone trying to break destiny, she has the gall of deciding others._

_She doesn't know who she should hate more. The monster who had destroyed countries, or the one who had spurned its creation on purpose. The ignorant or the hypocrite._

_One thing she knows for sure._

_Phantom cannot breach the walls of Amity's defenses._

_"I_ told _you so."_

_"Quiet, Weston."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that I have made the plot obnoxiously clear because of my impatient ass, what do you think is happening?
> 
> Leave a comment!


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